


These days we’ve lost.

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Community: daredevilkink, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you sure you don’t want to have a chat? I haven’t seen you in forever.” Father Lathom said, forcing a peaceful tone out. “What happened, son?”</p><p>Matt found himself letting out a cold chuckle. “My human half went missing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	These days we’ve lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme I love you but I hate you, I was supposed to do something else today.
> 
>  
> 
> [Original prompt here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=6611870#cmt6611870)

_Day 1_

Foggy was late.

Matt had been sitting in office, dutifully working for the most part of the morning before realizing the fact.  
When he did, he blinked. Sliding a finger on his clock, he frowned.  
Foggy was sometimes late, especially if they have gone to drinks the night prior. But it was nearly lunchtime, and Foggy still hasn’t come in nor called.

Matt got up, leaning over the office door into the main area where Karen was probably scrolling something on the internet, going by the sound of her mouse.

“Has Foggy called you?” 

She looked at him. “No?” She said, sounding as confused as he feels. “I tried to call him, earlier, but his phone is turned off.

Matt sighed. It was nothing to be worried about, it’s a rare occurrence but it won’t be the first time Foggy forgot to put his phone on charge. He was probably still sleeping in, cellphone forgotten with its battery drained.

Still, there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Matt shook his head. No reason to be paranoid. 

He slid his finger on the clock again, before muttering “I’ll give him another couple of hours.” unable to leave the scold out of his voice, and shuffled back into his office again, followed by the sound of Karen’s little laugh.

_Day 2_

No signs of housebreaking, nor fighting. The door was closed from the inside, as were the windows. The keys were on Foggy’s coffee table. Everything was in neat order, aside from the stained cup on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t the work of a burglar, seeing as not a drawer had been opened and the few object of any real value in Foggy’s apartment were still there.

Foggy’s phone was on his nightstand, near the untouched bed, battery drained.

Foggy was nowhere to be seen.

Matt was full of nervous energy, his foot tapping impatiently on the cheap linoleum floor as they waited the unbelievably slow officer to fill the missing person file. The only thing that kept him from the yelling at the guy was Karen’s hand firm on his bicep.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” She had said earlier that morning when they walked together into the police station. She tried to sound convincing, and she probably would’ve fooled anyone that didn’t had keen super-senses. She then gaped a little, probably trying to make up any reasons why Foggy would disappear and forget to call them for two days. When she couldn’t find any, she said again. “He’s probably fine.”

They had called every each one of the numbers registered into Foggy’s phone, but it had been useless. No one had seen him nor talked to him when he seemingly disappear.

(“He… He will be ok, right?”  
Matt wanted nothing more than being able to reassure Mrs Nelson that her son was fine, and that he’d probably walk into the office, embarrassed and nervous with an incredible story to tell, at any minute. But he couldn’t find it in him.  
“I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.” He murmured, instead.)

Brett walked in as soon as the file had finally been filled, short of breath. He had probably run there.

“Ehy.” He said, as they got up from the chairs. “Thanks, Lucas, I’ll take it from here.” He murmured to the officer, that nodded curtly and walked away. “What happened?”

That was the point. They had no idea.

When Matt failed to answer for long, tense seconds, Karen jumped in. “It’s… We don’t know.” She said, her voice barely itching. “We had just a normal day in the office, we all went home at the usual time. And then the day after, he was gone.”

Brett bit his lip. “No strange calls or messages?”

Karen shook her head, her shoulder sagging. Brett silently browsed the missing person report for a long couple of minutes, before looking up at them again.

“Do you think anyone with a grudge against the firm might have decided to act?” He asked, frankly.

Matt tensed slightly. That had been his first thought as soon as they realized that something was wrong.

But Matt wasn’t thinking that the grudge might have been against their firm.

He nearly missed the way Karen’s heart started to beat madly in her chest, too hard, too fast. The way her breath itched just barely.  
He perked up, just slightly, as she murmured sadly. “Well, we did take the Fisk case, didn’t we?”

 

_Day 4_

His searching, both in his everyday clothes and his night ones, had proven fruitless.

He had tracked what was left of Foggy’s scent back and forth like a dog, repeatedly. It had drained his energies, hard and fast, leaving him with an hollow feeling in his stomach and a headache.

But it didn’t matter how many times he searched and searched, managing to track Foggy’s faint scent between the thousands and thousands of people, between the smells of the city and the smog.

Foggy had went home right from the office, and the trace ended there.

_Day 6_

When Matt entered the office Karen made a little strangled sound, but she said nothing. Shortly after that she got out saying she would be right back.

Half an hour before the client that made an appointment through the phone would walk in, she silently came back and walked into Matt’s office while unwrapping a brand new concealer. She took Matt’s glasses off his face and slowly started to cover the deep purple bruises scattered all over Matt’s left cheek and jaw.

(He had been slow, and stupid. Too tired on lack of sleep, forgot to drink and eat properly. Too worried, worried, worried, as he broke hundreds of bones and punched so many faces he lost count in the spawn of two days.

No one has seen Foggy. No one has taken Foggy. No one even thought that Foggy was related to the Devil in any way. They probably did, now, after he broke in so many little and big groups of criminals, shuffling around the kitchen trying to fill the power void left by Fisk, and beat the crap out of every single one of them demanding informations about the little lawyer that had disappeared into thin hair without even making the news.)

_Day 15_

He had just closed the call, Foggy’s mom on the phone sounded like she had been crying, but she had been kind, and reassuring, to Matt.

It was stupid. He was the one that was supposed to comfort her, not the other way around.  
Matt had been comforted many times in the past two weeks, by everyone, even people he didn’t even realized knew him. He wasn’t sure why. 

(“Murdock.” Marci said just outside the entrance door, were Matt was searching for the office keys, the wooden sign that said _Nelson and Murdock_ hanging a little bit on his left.  
“I was walking by.” Marci continued easily when he stopped searching for the keys, turning towards her without a word. “Just… You’ll get through this, ok?”  
Matt had nodded, stiffly, before entering in the building. He only realized one hour later that Marci’s new place of employment was way far their office and that she never walked by on her way to work. That he hadn’t said a single word to her. That he didn’t really talk anymore unless it was strictly necessary, his voice scratchy with disuse those rare times when he did. That his night time counterpart talked more than he did, these days.)

He got up the couch, with all the intentions to put on the suit and go out, ignoring his tiredness and the sheer need of sleep. He’d been extending his patrolling a little bit more every night, breaching well out the borders of Hell’s kitchen.

(Though patrolling might not have been the right word. It was more of a desperate search, really.)

He still hasn’t found nothing. Not a voice, not a sighting, not a single lead. Hope was getting dimmer every each day, and with it his patience in dealing with the scum that littered the city.

He had just opened the trunk when a soft knock startled him out the rage boiling at the pit of his stomach. It was a blaring alarm of how far gone he was, that he did not realize Karen had got into the building, climbed all the way up to his place, and was not waiting at the door smelling of tears.  
He ignored the alarm.

When he opened the door, she walked in without a greeting, slightly shivering. She’d been drinking.

“Matt.” She said, her voice trembling, just after he closed the door. “I think it’s my fault.”

Matt walked in the middle of the living room and stood there, dumbfounded, in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses forgotten somewhere. 

“What is?” He asked, low and slowly, as she hiccuped a little.

“Foggy.” She whispered, voice itching. “I think i-it might be my fault- Maybe someone took him— Fisk’s men, probably—“

The police had been on the connection with the Fisk case enough to make it a dead horse, and so did Matt during his nights.  
It was a total dead end.

“How’s that your fault, Karen?” He asked, tiredly, and in that instant found out exactly why people had been comforting him instead of the other way around.

Because he didn’t had it in him to say that everything would be fine. Not without Foggy.

“I-“ She sobbed, and hand on her mouth, then took a deep breath, and started talking.

Of Fisk’s mother, of the way she had been taken right from her front door. Of henchmen calmly explaining to her how badly she’d fucked up, of guns, of bullets and blood.

Of the way she’d shoot the man who probably was the second most important person in Fisk’s life.

Matt just stood there, a buzz of white noise getting louder and louder in his head as Karen unloaded the truth on him.

And in any other moment, he would’ve hugged her, told her she was only defending herself. Told her she was just trying to do the right thing, that she couldn’t blame herself for that. Told her it was gonna be fine.

In any other moment, when Foggy was safe and sound at their side. In any other moment, not when his best friend had been gone for weeks without the slightest clue of what could have happened to him.

In any other moment. Not this one.

Before he even realized, the coffe table was rolling over the floor with loud crashing noises as Karen let out a startled hiccup and hurriedly took some steps back, softly hitting the wall.

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ONLY TELLING ME THIS _NOW_?!”

“M-Matt—“ Karen sobbed, as Matt’s throat burned and his breath got heavy and ragged.

“Didn’t you think that, maybe, you should’ve told this to the police oh, I don’t know— Right the fuck away?!” He yelled, irony heavy in his voice. “What is the point, two weeks after?!”

“Matt, I’m sorry—“ She whispered, sounding frightened, letting out a little yelp when he kicked the already flipped table with a frustrated growl. “I—“

“Do you even really _care_?!” He cut her off, taking some steps in her direction. He stopped abruptly when he realized she was scrambling away from him in _fear_.

They stood there, as if there was a rift on the floor between them, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. Matt forced himself to ease, calm his mind, shift his posturing from menacing to neutral, let his hands relax from the tight fists he was making.

Then he turned, walked into his bedroom, and closed the door on his back.

A minute later he heard the entrance door softly closing.

Ten minutes later, he went to put on the suit and got out.

_Day 16_

“Karen… It’s me. Sorry… Sorry about yesterday. It’s not your fault, and even if you said something sooner it wouldn’t have changed anything. Don’t— Maybe you shouldn’t tell anyone, for the time being. You’d only put yourself in trouble. We’ll cross that bridge when— Another time. I’d understand if you don’t want to— But please, call me.”

_Day 19_

“Your hand is probably broken.” Claire sighed, tone flat. “There’s nothing I can do about that. You should go to a hospital.”

Matt didn’t answer. Everything hurt, not only his hand -which had a minor fracture. It was nothing Matt couldn’t handle-. Claire had to sew so many injures it took her nearly two hours. He was exhausted. He needed sleep, and food.  
A new suit, also, probably.

“That bullet graze was starting to get infected, make sure it doesn’t.” She added tiredly when he didn’t answer. “And, for the love of God, _eat something_.”

Matt nodded, slowly getting up. He fell right back on the bed Claire had pushed him on when she nudged his shoulder.

“Stay, you need to rest. I can clean the injuries and put fresh gauzes on you when you wake up.” 

“I can’t sleep here—“ Matt started, as Claire pushed him down. 

“You can and you will, you’ll drop to the floor in a block in the conditions you are now.” She replied, firm. “Stay down. Sleep. I’ll prepare something for you to eat later.”

“Claire—“ 

“Shut up. Sleep.” 

Matt sighed, closing his eyes. He knew when to pick his battle, and this one was already lost.

“Did you find anything about your friend?” Claire asked, softly, after long minutes of watching over him. Matt shook his head.

Nothing— Even with the new… “info” provided by Karen.  
There was nothing.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, sincere, gently combing his hair away from his forehead with her fingers.

_Day 31_

With the help of Karen, they put everything away in boxes in a single afternoon.

They didn’t spoke much. Karen had gracefully accepted his apology for the show of temper, days prior. They briefly talked about what happened with Wesley and agreed to keep it to themselves. Foggy would’ve probably not approved of that, but Matt didn’t want to put Karen in trouble for defending herself, and it’s not like he was in any position to make moral judgments. Pot meet kettle, and all that.

But something stayed broken between them. There was a tension always humming in the background, making both of them jumpy and prone to snap around each other.

Matt had been mulling over the fact that he should do something about it. But, to be honest, he couldn’t muster the energy to really care.

He liked and cared about Karen, he did. But maybe, he had realized that what really had kept them connected was Foggy’s presence.  
Now that he was gone, now that the real Matt was surfacing without his best friend to keep him tamed, Karen was probably rethinking her choice to stand by Matt’s side.

And how could he resent her for that? Matt didn’t want to be at Matt’s side. Now less than ever, for sure.

Then Foggy’s landlord called. He was truly sorry, he said. He understood the difficult situation, he said.

But he couldn’t leave the apartment empty. It was only a matter of time before rats or cockroaches would invade the empty space that was not being cleaned and taken care of. He had a line of people waiting to get an apartment, so could they please come over and get Foggy’s stuff?

Karen had been fuming, but when Matt said that they were gonna take care of it without a single complaint, she followed. They brought empty boxes, filled them, and patiently dragged them to Matt’s place. There weren’t many, really. Barely took them an afternoon.

Matt pushed them in little neat stacks under the fire hose, so he wouldn’t accidentally trip on them.

“Maybe we should give them to his family?” Karen mused, voice low, chewing on her nail. Matt belatedly realize it was the first thing she had said in hours.

“It would be a pain to transport them to the other side of the city.” Matt replied with a shrug. “And Foggy wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, when he gets back and has to go get his stuff all the way to his parents’ house.”

Karen’s breath itched as she stopped abruptly chewing on her nail.

She said nothing, but Matt smelled the salty pang of tears as her gaze burned into the back of his head.

_Day 33_

Before he could really registered what he was doing, Matt was opening the boxes.

When they packed, he didn’t let himself think about what he was doing. He couldn’t really help in deciding what has to go where, so he let Karen pass him stuff as he put it away as neatly as he possibly could. It was a sign of how little Foggy had, that a blind man could help pack away his things in a single afternoon.

But now he was opening the boxes. There wasn’t much. A small tv and Foggy’s old, battered playstation 2. Some books. Five mugs Foggy had been dragging around since law school. Mostly clothes, suits and shirts neatly folded between the occasional piece of more casual clothing.  
Everything smelled of Foggy, so much, that Matt found himself drunkenly pushing his face against a shirt, breathing deeply.  
Breath itched in his throat as a broken sob escaped his lips, followed by another, and another one. It was hard to breath and his chest protested painfully at every each sob, but his eyes remained stubbornly dry.

_Day 35_

Foggy had a photo album. It was packed, some pictures stacked up all over the others.  
Matt had never quite missed his sight as much as he was doing now. He would sell his soul for just a minute of his sight back, to look at the pictures.

Foggy liked to take pictures, back at school. He used his phone, saying it might not be the best quality, but that way he could catch the moment super fast. Building memories, he said. He liked to take pictures of Matt, with Matt, even when they were doing something as boring as taking coffee. He liked to visit one of his uncles that worked a office job in Manhattan and sneakily use the office copiers there to print the pictures and put them in the album.

He liked to narrate them to Matt. “This one was from when we went to Jennifer Hale’s birthday party- It’s pretty cool, you are standing over the big windows and there’s the full moon behind you. Very suggestive.” but when Matt touched the picture printed on cheap paper, he could feel the indents of Foggy’s writing behind it. The date, and _“Jennifer Hale’s birthday, just a second before Jhonson puked all over Matt’s shoes. Priceless.”_  
“Foggy.” Matt scolded, with a smile, and Foggy snickered loudly.

But there were more recent pictures, one even dated just a week before Foggy disappeared.

 _”Selfie with sleeping Matt at the office.”_

Matt was ready to bet Foggy was making a ridiculous face in that picture. Or maybe making obscene gestures over Matt’s head. He remembered that day, waking up from an impromptu nap with Foggy snickering, answering “Nothing!” when Matt asked what he was doing.

There were a lot of really recent pictures that Foggy never had the time to narrate to him. Matt read all of them, over and over, thinking that he would give his soul to be able to look at them.

_Day 62_

“You know that— After all this time— There might be the chance—“

Matt stood abruptly, effectively cutting Mr Nelson off.

“I’ll be right back, sorry.” He gritted out, marching toward the bathroom, not even pretending to use his cane. He banged the door open, his breath getting shorter and faster.

He didn’t know what was with everyone, approaching him like he was a lion in a cage, trying to convince him that Foggy— 

It had been barely two months, and they were already _giving up._

He shook his head, took his glasses off to scrub a hand over his face. It was as if the world was going insane.  
He approached the sink, opening the water on cold to splash on his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“ Karen murmured, clearly uncomfortable, from the other side of the diner. Matt perked up, drops running down his chin.

“No, no, you did the right thing, dear.” Mrs Nelson replied, tears in her voice. “You are worried, it’s understandable.”

Mr Nelson sighed. “I… got scared when I’ve seen him. That boy is wasting away in body and mind. I understand why you decided to call us.” He said, voice low. “I knew he and Franklin were close, but—“

“Do you really— I mean—“

“Believe that Franklin it’s not coming back?” Mr Nelson supplied with a mirthless chuckle when the silence stretched. “We are his parents, there’s nothing I want more than have him back.” He added, his voice trembling. “But we are his parents— Matthew, he’s still young. He needs to move on. Franklin would want that.”

Matt felt as if something inside him _broke_.

He climbed out the bathroom window, leaving the cane at the table with the three people that suddenly felt like strangers.

_Day 63_

Karen entered in the office, tense and closed off. She put the cane on his desk with studied slowness.

“Nothing to say?” She asked when he stubbornly kept his mouth shut.

“Mrs Nelson spent the entire afternoon crying, thanks to you. I hope you are proud.” She added, sharp, when he still didn’t reply.

“Oh, could’ve had me fooled.” Matt replied with a dark chuckle. “By how fast they were trying to convince me to let everything go, I was surely convinced they didn’t really gave a fuck.”

Karen’s breath itched. “That’s not fair, it wasn’t like that, and _you know it_.” She murmured, sounding dangerous.

“Do I, now?” Matt replied, getting up abruptly. “You deceived me just so the parents of the only person I ever considered family after my father could tell me to give up. Doesn’t that sums yesterday up about right?”

“Matt, that’s not it, you know that—“ 

“No, I don’t!” He yelled, banging a fist on the desk, cutting Karen off. “I fucking don’t! What I know is that you all are fucking quitters and are trying to convince me to forget this whole story, to forget Foggy, as if nothing happened!”

Karen took a deep breath, trembling slightly. “You are twisting everything.” She replied, trying to keep calm despite the tears obvious in his voice. “No one wants you— No one wants you to forget about Foggy, Matt. But you have to take in consideration the _possibility_ —“

“ _No!_ ” He interrupted her again, circling the desk to stand right in front of her. “Enough, ok?! You had no right to do what you did yesterday, and you have no right to tell me what to do! He was my _only family_ , everyone keeps forgetting about that! He was all I had, and I’m not gonna shrug and move on as if he was nothing! I don’t know what you are trying to accomplish, but whatever it is, _stop it_.”

“What I’m trying to accomplish is making you take care of yourself!” Karen sobbed back. “You are a mess, Matt, ok?! You don’t eat, you clearly don’t sleep, and you get into the office every each other day covered in bruises or with a broken hand, or limping with blood stains on your shirts! I have no clue what the fuck you do when you are out of here, but whatever it is, it’s destroying you! All I want is for you to face reality, and stop!”

They both breathed heavily into the silence for long seconds, before Matt spoke, slowly. 

“Fine, then you won’t have to look at me destroying myself anymore. Get out.”

He could hear Karen paling abruptly. “What?”

“Get out. I’m done with you, I’m done with Foggy’s parents.” Matt continued, walking into the main area to go rummaging into a drawer. “I’m done with fucking _everyone._ ” he kept muttering, until he found what he was searching. He took the sheet of paper out. Karen’s contract.

He ripped it in half.

“You can’t—“ Karen said, choked, but he cut her off again.

“I can. I did.” He replied, cold. “Get out.”

“Matt—“

“GET. OUT!”

Karen sniffed, an hand over and mouth, and rapidly took her purse, stepping out the corridor. Matt heard her sobbing as she got farther.

_Day 64_

Part of him knew he had been unfair. He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

He clutched the phone in his hand, but he didn’t call Karen, nor Foggy’s parents.

_Day 81_

Matt belatedly realized he hadn’t shed a single tear every since Foggy has disappeared, as he heard the man whose leg he had just broke sobbing into the concrete.

_Day 102_

“Already going away? You hadn’t even got inside.”

Matt turned toward Father Lathom. He hissed.

“Jesus, look at you.” He murmured, and in another time, maybe Matt would’ve playfully pointed out the profanity.

“I was just walking by.” He replied, voice flat, resuming his walk. The priest followed him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have a chat? I haven’t seen you in forever.” Father Lathom said, forcing a peaceful tone out. “What happened, son?”

Matt found himself letting out a cold chuckle. “My human half went missing.”

_Day 172_

Stick didn’t even try to conceal his traces.

“What do you want?” Matt asked, tiredly, the instant he stepped in his apartment. It had been a long day at court and a long case. He had a ton of paperwork to take care of alone at the office and Jennifer Walters had asked him out for drinks again. He had no patience to spare, today.

“Just checking on you.” Stick replied from his couch, sipping at one of his beers. “Glad to see you’ve upgraded from that piss you called beer.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, get out.” Matt replied flatly, launching his suitcase on one of the armchair and stripping from the suit and shirt. Stick chuckled. 

“What an attitude, finally learning something?” He put the bottle down the coffee table with a clink, standing. “I’ve heard what happened to your little pal. People always talk about the five stages of grief, or shit like that. By the look of it, you are going through all of them at the same time.”

Matt froze. He had done the impossible to find a lead on Foggy’s disappearance, and failed. But, incredibly and dumbly, he hadn’t took into consideration Stick and his war.

“Do you have anything to do with it?” He murmured, dangerous. Stick sighed.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, boy. If it was me, you’d know. I’d make a point of it, trust me.” He replied. “No, I’m not dumb enough to touch your things, learned my lesson, long given up on getting your head out of your ass. Whoever it was, it had nothing to do with us.”

He sounded sincere, but then again, it was not like Stick hadn’t lied plenty to him in the past and sounded honest. Matt slowly walked to him until they were standing barely inches apart.

“If I discover that you and your war have anything to do with this.” He said, slowly. “I will find you, and I will kill you.”

Stick full-on laughed in his face. “You won’t have the balls, boy. You never did.”

“Don’t test me.” Matt growled, voice low, gaining another laugh. 

“You are adorable.” Stick replied, ironic. “But again, boy, I know you don’t have it in you. I can test you right now.”

“Stick—“

“This stuff.” Stick continued, ignoring him, walking toward the boxes still sitting under the fire hose. “It’s your friend’s, right?”

“Stick, I don’t have any patience for this bullshit today—“

“What’s this, a photo album?” Stick said, picking it up and browsing it, running his fingers all over the pictures. “What is even the point of keeping this, boy? _Matt studying for Tort._ Really? You are that much of a sap?”

“Put that thing _down_ , I’m warning you—“ 

“ _Selfie with Matt. Passed the tort exam!_ ” Stick read out, in a sing song voice. Then took the picture, and crumpled it in his fist.

Matt _snapped_.

_Day 186_

“I…” The man sniffed, voice trembling. “I thought you didn’t kill—“ 

“I’m done playing nice.” Daredevil replied through his teeth.

_Day 432_

People had been screaming, loudly. They had been screaming, and running, and everything reminded him of years back, of portals opening in the sky and aliens pouring out of them.  
So he put on the suit, and went out, because that’s what he did when he wasn’t being judge and jury for criminals. He helped.  
He tried to make out what was happening from people’s frantic speaking, and all he could understand was that there had been portals, _again_ , but not in the sky, this time. Portals at sidewalk level, sucking people in and spitting _other things_ out, portals— 

Suddenly, he felt pure darkness and the sensation of being on a roller coaster, then he was back again on solid ground, his nose bleeding, inside a building. A office, going by the sounds, in New York— 

This New York was not his New York.

The city was the same, but he still could feel something different. It was on his skin, on his tongue, in the way the city reverberated to his senses.

And this office was not his office. Mainly because he had stopped having a office a month prior.

“You are one of those, aren’t you.” A feminine voice he could not recognize sighed. “Don’t worry, we’ll send you back in the blink of an eye, so don’t freak out, ok?”

Matt wanted to ask what the hell she was talking about, but was cut off by two men opening the door and stepping inside, clearly engaging in some kind of playful banter that was interrupted when they -presumably- laid eyes on him.

“What—“ One of them, the taller one, said, and his voice sounded strangely familiar.

“He popped out of nowhere in the middle of the office.” The woman explained curtly, and the man sighed.

“I’ll go call Stephen.” He said, sounding tired as he walked into another room.

“I’ll go cancel today’s appointment, it’s not like we can send him somewhere else.” The woman said, walking out as well.

The last man looked around, before sighing. “Honestly, those two.” He muttered. “C’mon, Matty, don’t stay there on the floor, we have perfectly fine couches. Are you hurt? Hungry? Do you need anything?” The man said, taking his hand gently to help Matt on his feet. He added, as is it was an afterthought “You have a me in your universe, right?” 

Matt managed to stop gaping for a second. He knew that voice, even if the timbre was slightly different. He knew that smell, even if it was nearly covered by the stench of some kind of chemicals. He knew that hand, even if the fingers felt too thin under his. He knew the smell of that shampoo, even if his hair was shorter.

“Foggy?” He managed to breath out.

—

“Something gone wrong with some kind of magic. Or maybe it’s the Avengers’s fault, wouldn’t have been the first time.” Foggy sighed, pushing a cup of tea in Matt’s now gloveless hands. “Anyway, there’s been a lot of universe rifting lately, and we have got a lot of visitors from other universes similar to ours. You are just one of many, but don’t worry, we know how to send you back home, so just relax until Strange gets here, ok?”

For all he was understanding, Foggy could’ve been speaking actual punjabi. But this Foggy (not _his_ Foggy, apparently.) Had helped him out the suit, tutted when he seen how thin and unkempt he was. Gently cleaned the blood off his face and gave him tea and cookies.

Now he was sitting at his side on the couch, watching him with mild interest.

“You look really young, and also like shit.” He said, raw honest. “Not that I’m surprised, mind you. Things rough on your side of the multiverse? Do you want to talk about it?”

Matt gulped around a knot in his throat. “Foggy?”

“Yeah, that’s my name.” He replied, gently, with a smile in his voice.

Matt let the cup of tea drop on the floor with a loud crush, closing his fists on Foggy’s shirts and pressing his forehead against Foggy’s chest with a single, dry sob.  
— 

“Ehy, ehy, it’s ok… It’s ok…” 

It wasn’t ok, Matt wanted to wail as this Foggy petted his hair and hugged him like he had knew him for a lifetime. It wasn’t ok, it was never gonna be, because _you aren’t home with me_.

All he could do was sobbing harder, instead.

— 

“The woman you met was Kirsten. Do you have a Kirsten? No? You two are constantly dancing around each other, is in equal parts funny and irritating. But you’d make a cute couple.”

This Foggy was talking nonsense at him, letting Matt cling to him. He had stopped sobbing, finally -still dry, still no tears-. But he wasn’t gonna let Foggy go, ever.

“You look really different than my Matt. I thought the gingerness was a constant of the multiverse, but I had been proven wrong, don’t I? Dark hair suits you, even if it’s strange. And you are a bit shorter too, it’s kinda cute.”

"You never went universe hopping, did you? You looked very confused, earlier. It wouldn't be surprising, you are _really_ young. Well, get used to weird stuff if you keep wearing your superhero garbs—“

"I'm not a superhero." Matt managed to choke out.

"Oh, so you do know how to talk." Foggy teased him playfully. He patted Matt's hair gently. "I don't like how sad you look, Matty. Want to tell me what's wrong?"

 _What's not wrong?_. "You..." Matt licked his lips nervously. "You are gone." He finally forced out, voice low and choked. Foggy tensed.

"Oh." He said, in a whisper. "I'm sorry. What...?"

"It's been more than a year." Matt continued, hands tight on this Foggy's shirt. "You were there and then the next day you were gone. Disappeared without leaving a single trace. I searched for you everywhere, in every way I could possibly think of. But you were gone."

"Oh, Matt, I'm sorry—“

It was as if Matt couldn't stop. He kept talking. "I turned away every person that ever cared about me. I... I did the unthinkable. I killed a man." A cold, hysterical chuckle escaped his lips. "Willingly. I killed many more after him. I closed the firm not much time ago, I was alone and I wasn't working anymore anyway."

Foggy had tensed significantly, and Matt let his shirt go as if he'd got burned.

"You did _what_?" Foggy asked, breathless, and choked. "Oh, I— Why did you— All that, because of _me_?"

"Not because of you. Because I'm _me_." Matt replied in a defeated whisper. “You’ve always been my moral compass. Without you, I’ve got lost.”

"Matt..." Foggy started, his voice tense, as he shifted slightly away from him unconsciously. The door opened. The other Matt entered, followed by another man.

"... Am I interrupting something?" The other Matt asked, half jokingly half serious. Foggy immediately stood, walking toward his friend. 

Putting a safe distance between himself and Matt. It was understandable, really, but Matt was sure he could convince him to forgive what he had done—

"It's nothing. Hi, Stephen." Foggy said, sounding unsure. "Ready?"

"Yes, of course." The man called Stephen replied in a calm, collected tone. "Ready to go back, Matthew?"

What? "I don't want to go back." Matt replied, breathless.

The declaration was followed by long seconds of silence.

"But you have to." Stephen reasoned calmly. "This was an unnatural occurrence, you have to get back to your own universe. Your presence would create even a bigger rift-"

"I'm not going back." Matt replied, stubborn, voice trembling. 

He could hear Foggy and the other Matt exchange a look, and he distantly wondered if this Matt could see.

"Look, it's not a available choice, your presence here could become dangerous for the entire planet, and the entire universe after.” Stephen said, sounding slightly impatient. “It’s not something up to debate.”

Matt took a step back, and the other Matt instantly surged forward and grabbed his arm, growling “Don’t even think about it.”

“You can’t—“ Matt choked, trying to fight against the other him’s surprisingly strong hold. “I don’t want to go back!”

“Stephen—!” The other Matt half-yelled, dodging Matt’s punch. He turned Matt’s arm on his back, painfully, closing the other arm around Matt’s neck.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK!” Matt screamed, trashing against his counterpart to no avail. The other Matt was obviously more experienced, because he didn’t give even an inch. “DON’T SEND ME BACK, _PLEASE_!”

The last thing he heard before the sensation of being on a roller coaster was this universe Foggy’s choked sob.

 

_Day 432, reprise_

Matt fell badly on his knees and his hands hit concrete as he tried to find his balance back, barely gulping down the bile that was rising in his throat.  
Loud noises surrounded him, people screaming, was he back? His senses were on the fritz, nothing made sense— 

“He came out of there— shoot!“ Someone booming voice said above the deafening noise. 

“But he looks human—“

“ _Shoot!_ ”

Matt had tried to stand, confused, wobbly on his legs. He was pretty sure he tried to stand, but he heard a loud noise that made his ears ring now he was back down, concrete pressing on his face, pain radiating from his abdomen— 

Sounds came muffled, indistinct, under the ringing still in his ears, but he could feel the blood seeping over the shirt that Foggy - _The other Foggy, the one that petted his hair and called him “Matty”, the Foggy that shuffled away from him when he discovered just how really fucked up Matt was_ \- had gave him, spilling on the concrete.

The other Foggy had let him go without a protest, the other Foggy that heard him scream and did nothing—

He felt something on his cheeks. Blood—? Oh. No.

His tears were back.

The other Foggy had done nothing.

Not _his_ Foggy, not the one that had disappeared a lifetime ago, leaving him alone without a guidance in a world that did its best and succeeded in chewing Matt up and spitting him out as broken as it gets— 

Not _his_ Foggy that— Smelled— In that way that Matt was smelling right now.

An hand on his head, an hand on his shoulder, firm and familiar.

The light shuffle of long hair brushing shoulders.

“Matt?”

 _His_ Foggy.


End file.
